Her free hand moves to rest just over my heart, and I swear it stutters under her touch.
I want to kiss her.
The thought crashes in loud and immediate, no slow build, no logic to stop it.
I want to kiss her.
And I think she might let me.
Her lips part slightly, breath catching just as I lean in, drawn by the impossible gravity that is her. The song coming to a close.
But before I can close the distance completely…
“Hope I’m not interrupting.”
The voice is silk-draped steel. Too smooth. Too much cruelty dressed up and hiding behind fake niceties.
I don’t have to turn to know who it is.
Lindsay’s hand tightens reflexively in mine before she eases away, the spell of the moment breaking away from us.
Auron steps into view, hands in the pockets of his midnight-blue coat like he owns the damn courtyard. His golden hair is immaculate, his smirk carefully calculated, and his eyes—his eyes are locked on Lindsay like she’s already in his arms.
The way he looks at her makes something cold twist low in my gut.
“Auron,” Lindsay says slowly, not completely letting me go.
He tilts his head. “Lindsay.” His gaze flicks to me, expression already bored. “Porter.”
I square my shoulders but say nothing. No point. He doesn’t really see me.
He never sees me. He's probably only acknowledging me now so he doesn't look like the massive conceited asshole he is.
“You clean up well,” he says, eyes raking over her dress like it’s something he deserves to see her in. I scoff under my breath, she's always beautiful.
But she doesn’t shrink under it. She doesn’t blush or flinch or play coy. She stands tall. Matching him.
Like he’s a storm she already knows how to survive.
Auron gestures toward the middle of the dance floor, like the entire Revel is just background noise to him. “I was hoping to steal a dance. Unless you’re otherwise engaged?”
I feel her glance. A single second, but I feel it everywhere. Then she speaks. Cool and steady.
“I told you I’d save you a dance. I keep my word.”
Not an invitation. Not even a shred of warmth.
But not a rejection either.
Someone calls out to him, and he waves absently before bringing his attention back to Lindsay. He smirks, smug and knowing. “I’ll come collect it soon, then.”
And then he’s gone, boots silent against the stone. But not without a backward glance. Not without that stupid, smug flick of a smile aimed straight at me.
Lindsay turns back to me, slower now.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“You don’t have to be,” I manage. But it lands hollow in my chest.
